


Warm Me Up

by UnknownLeaf



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Consensual Sex, M/M, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22271086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnknownLeaf/pseuds/UnknownLeaf
Summary: Michael thoroughly savors his precious obsession and Quentin enjoys every moment of it.
Relationships: Michael Myers/Quentin Smith
Comments: 6
Kudos: 143





	Warm Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> This work is inspired by an old comment on another written story of mine.  
> Italics represent Quentin's thoughts. Enjoy!

The frigid, blinding fog once again whisks Quentin away to participate in another tedious trial. Trading one type of chill for another, he opens his eyes to gaze upon the abandoned Mount Ormond Resort when the fog eventually disperses. He smiles at the way the mesmerizing, puffy snowflakes flit through the light breeze and silently decorate the realm. _It’s really beautiful. And it dulls the sting too..._

Quentin gingerly fingers the sore areas on the column of his throat caused by a certain dream demon. Needless to say, Freddy had not taken too kindly to his defiance during his latest visit to the dreamworld. While the Entity had mended the thin slices from the bastard’s knifes, their godly captor failed to heal all of the damage and Quentin was almost positive he still had bruises. _Whatever; it’s over for now._

Readjusting his vest securely on his shoulders to block out the bitter cold, Quentin rushes off to repair his figurative tickets to freedom. While this realm possesses an eye-pleasing aesthetic, the harsh weather frequently outweighs the beauty it has to offer.

Spotting his first target resting a few paces away from a snowy hilltop, Quentin moves to squat down in front of it and begins to tinker with the flimsy wires. It is routine now, an ever so mundane one, such that it has unfortunately become second nature—akin to the simple action of inhaling and exhaling. These particular wires have a disgusting film of dirt clinging to them which makes the tiny things all the more difficult to grasp properly. One little slip of his frost-bitten fingers and the killer would come a running. _Okay, this wire should connect to here. Good, that works, and… ugh, no, this one’s tangled with three other ones. Shit! How’d they even get t—_

An abrupt tingling sensation, practically bone-chilling, crawling up his spine has him subtly scanning his surrounding for danger. _Feels like I’m being watched._ Cautiously monitoring the wooden structures and nearby rocks for threats, Quentin resumes his repair work but prepares to flee if necessary. _No crows squawked, so either it’s a quiet friend or a quiet killer… or I’m hearing things again. At least it’s not Freddy; he’d have put me to sleep by now._

When the tingling sensation persists, his anxiety increases alongside his perspiration. Nevertheless, upon seeing nothing suspicious around his person, Quentin continues to fiddle with the machine before him.

_Am I just being paranoid again?_ Unfortunately, hallucinations from sleep deprivation tend to make one jumpy and then he ends up pissing someone off—namely Meg and Feng—when it hinders his repair work. Thankfully, at present, Freddy remains incapable of invading his dreams within trials. Although, it is not like Quentin has the advantage of taking a nap during one because of the other killers. His teammates too might not appreciate him hiding away all trial either. _What am I doing? Focus on the gen, just focus on the gen. Sleep nev—later! Sleep later._

At the sound of a crow cawing directly behind him, Quentin outright panics, his heart practically ceasing to function in a mere second. _Oh for fuck’s sake! Why didn’t I listen to my intuition in the first place?_ He immediately attempts to flee but a strong hand swiftly flips him around and a warm pressure molds to his frosty lips. _Jesus fucking… what the hell?!_

Wide eyes finally taking in the identity of his assailant, Quentin gradually quells his panicky heart and gladly relaxes into the breathtaking kiss. Wrapping his arms around the taller male’s neck, Quentin melts into the contact while his back is awkwardly crushed against the partially finished generator. He eagerly allows the tongue probing at the seam of his lips entry, the slick appendage delving inside to expertly roam his mouth. _Why does he always do this to my heart?_

Temporarily pulling away from those inviting lips and devious tongue, Quentin utters a breathless and slightly peeved, “I could’ve done without the heartache Michael. Why d’you always do that?”

The Shape, with the lower half of his face exposed, merely tilts his head to the side and offers the teenager a cheeky grin. _Of course, this is all so funny to you._

Quentin grumbles a bit and then lightly punches the killer’s shoulder while voicing a half-hearted and playful, “You jerk. Seriously, if you keeping scaring me like that, I might just sto—”

Myers quiets him with another intense kiss and Quentin feels his willpower draining from him with each stolen breath. _Or I could accept this as an apology, but maybe somewhere warmer._

“M-Michael,” Quentin stutters out while failing miserably to resist those hungry kisses, “it’s cold out. And this isn’t exactly the best place to be doing… stuff.”

He feels Michael pull away temporarily, the killer flashing him a sly smile before blowing a warm stream of air into his left ear. _Oh for… goddammit Michael!_ He shoots the other male a feeble pout only to frown seconds later when he notices the killer’s eye holes hyper-focused on his neck. _I do still have bruises don’t I?_

“It-It’s okay,” Quentin tries to reassure Myers, “Fred—”

He hears Michael growl aggressively at the mere utterance of the offending name and then the man is nuzzling into the crevice of his neck. _Geez!_ Involuntarily yelping from the sudden action, he eventually smiles softly at the other’s antics—possibly possessiveness or protectiveness—and tilts his head to the side. With better access permitted, Michael seeks out each affected patch of skin and peppers them with firm kisses. Quentin clutches the man’s head and shoulder tighter when teeth are introduced, their blunt tips faintly grazing his sensitive flesh and creating a new, intoxicating kind of shiver.

The content hum from the killer barely has time to reach his ears before a wet heat positions itself over his pulse point and sucks hard. _Holy fucking shit!_ He releases a choked moan as his knees buckle from the unexpected, pleasurable assault. _God, at this rate..._

“N-Not that this, ah... isn’t am-amazing,” Quentin shakily states between breathy gasps, “but, if we g-get caught…”

Given the long period between their last trial together, Quentin would prefer to avoid all undue interruptions and he doubts that Michael would disagree. A low groan reverberates within the killer’s chest, a noise Quentin can actually feel, before he is abruptly hoisted over the man’s shoulder.

“Wha—Hey! Michael!” Quentin indignantly squeaks out before smacking the guy on the back. _Could’ve given me some warning first, sheesh._

Michael retaliates with his own slaps to the boy’s rear, the action driving several more squeaks and an embarrassed flush from Quentin. _Okay, someone’s excited... and aggressive._

Myers is swift and deadly silent as he carries Quentin into the chalet. Stepping into the building, the killer quickly ducks behind a tall cluster of boxes and debris. _Huh? What’s going on?_ Sensing something amiss, Quentin narrowly peers around Michael to observe Ash repairing the generator straight ahead. _Oh shit._

“What now?” Ash questions, the comment causing Quentin to freeze up in panic. _Did he spot us? N-No... no, he’s just talking to himself. Again._

Apparently ill-concerned with the presence of the other survivor, Michael stealthily creeps up the left-side stairwell to the second floor while Quentin does his damnedest not to make a sound. The killer, for the most part, utilizes the dull red carpeting to muffle his footsteps while expertly avoiding the floorboards which tend to creak on the second floor—a hidden talent Quentin greatly admires. Myers then slinks into one of the darkened resort rooms, carefully inches the door shut with a soft click, and softly sets down his quarry.

Narrowing his eyes in concentration, Quentin fishes through his back pocket to retrieve his lighter. Flicking the wheel, a small flame sparks to life and illuminates a teeny portion of the room. Before he is able to do anything else, Myers snatches the lighter from him and begins lighting antique lanterns in different parts of the room.

The space is sparse of décor, but it has one or two things. A double bed, for starters, in the right-side corner along with a single dresser and nightstand nearby. Otherwise, there are a bunch of boxes piled up on the left side near a boarded-up doorway—possibly leading out to a balcony. All in all, nothing special but perfect for their endeavours.

“Did you know those were in here?” Quentin questions in a hushed tone while gesturing to the lanterns.

Myers gives no reply as the man sets both the lighter and his trusty kitchen knife on the nightstand. _Guess it doesn’t really matter._ Shrugging indifferently, Quentin removes his socks, sneakers, and beanie before quietly hopping on top of the cold, monochromatic-striped duvet.

A loud ping rings out from the other side of the door a few moments later. _Sounds like Ash finally finished. Good. I’m honestly surprised Michael didn’t kill him._

The both of them listen intently and patiently wait for Ash to leave the building. When the echoes of footfalls fade in nothingness, Michael pounces into action, the killer hastily straddling Quentin onto the mattress and kissing him deeply. _Excited, aggressive, and impatient? Oh boy... what have I gotten myself into?_

His head is framed by large hands as Myers practically forces their mouths to mold together to form a perfect lock, the killer seemingly reveling in the taste of his lips. Those sneaky flicks of tongue here and there, those tiny pinpricks of pain erupting from his bitten lips, only serve to tease him and leave him desperate for more. _Shit, m’gonna go crazy from this._

Itching to reciprocate, Quentin shifts his clenched hands from the dingy duvet to Michael. Sadly, the killer has other plans and instead collects his wrists into a single fist and maneuvers them above his head. _What’re you up to now?_ While Myers holds his hands and mouth hostage, the man’s free hand snakes underneath his graphic T-shirt. A calloused palm briefly brushes over his lower abdomen, coarse fingers drawing imaginary lines over the smooth surface before ascending.

Ever the little sneak, Michael distracts him by idly toying with his torso before promptly switching off to his nipples. Myers lightly traces the perimeter of the small pebble of flesh before harshly pinching the defenceless bud between two fingers. _Holy shit!_ The rough treatment has Quentin arching in undisguised pleasure, a mixture of a moan and a shriek resounding from his throat to which the killer greedily inhales through their interlocked lips.

When he tries to grope a feel of his own, Michael stubbornly refuses to release his entrapped hands. _Seriously? Why not just tie my legs up too while you’re at it? This is so unfair!_ In response, he whimpers in disappointment and purposely twists his bound wrists to entice the other male into freeing him. Myers grins against his lips and merely focuses on driving Quentin closer and closer to the brink of insanity. Every rough tug and scratch of fingers, every bruising smooch to his tender lips has him internally screaming in frustration. It is pure torture at this point.

_Oh come on! This is rid—Okay, fine, two can play at this game._ Smirking wickedly, Quentin begins teasingly thrusting his pelvis upwards into Michael, the friction noticeable but far too light to satisfy the large erection forming underneath those overalls.

Michael breaks away to groan lowly, steely orbs glaring into his cesious-coloured ones as Quentin mutters an innocent, “What? You started it.”

The killer growls ominously, the noise causing Quentin’s mouth to contort into a shit-eating grin, and then instantly proceeds to savagely shred the boy’s T-shirt clean from his body. Finally permitted the use of his hands, Quentin sits upright to speedily remove his vest and toss it haphazardly on the floor.

Clearly not keen on wasting precious time, Quentin allows Michael to shove him back down and lustily observes the older male diving in to affectionately mark his unshielded torso.

_Damn this feels amazing, it always does, but I wanna feel too._ While Myers bites and scratches at his chest, Quentin reaches between their bodies to unzip the killer’s overalls. His fingers dip inside the open folds to explore, each digit mapping out numerous scars and lines of musculature. A deep, satisfied rumble bolsters Quentin to proceed lower, his touches slowing inching their way downwards to the distinct bulge below. _C’mon, get in there._ The angle is annoyingly awkward, but he eventually manages to maneuver one hand inside the band of Michael’s boxers.

A single, feather-light stroke of his finger sends Michael into a frenzy, the man rapidly jolting upward and ripping off the remainder of Quentin’s clothing. _Now I’ve done it... and now I’m gonna turn it up a notch._

“What’s wrong Michael?” Quentin voices with a knowing, cocky smile. “Don’t like it when your food plays with you?”

The feral look Michael offers in return is downright frightening, and Quentin can practically feel his manhood growing in excitement. _Now’s my chance._ Quentin abruptly forces the killer onto his back and, when Myers tries to move, he frees the killer’s member and gives the throbbing, eight-and-a-half-inch shaft a few pumps. He eyes Michael with a smirk as he shuffles onto all fours and goes to lick at the other’s engorged head. His tongue lazily traces the mushroom tip, the slippery appendage relishing in the unique tangy and salty taste, before Quentin plunges his mouth over top of it. While his mouth is preoccupied, the hand steadying the base of Michael’s length starts moving up in down in a slow rhythm. A strong palm lands on his mess of curls shortly afterwards, rough fingers tangling through the unruly strands and attempting to shove his head further down. _You want more huh? Too bad; I'm not done yet._

Instead of simply surrendering to the older male’s wishes, Quentin continues his leisurely sucks and strokes until Myers practically crushes the upper portion on his skull. Snorting around the flesh residing his mouth, he finally relents by shallowing nearly all of the killer’s girthy cock. Ignoring his petty gag reflex, Quentin hollows out his mouth and then begins to bob his head hungrily over Michael’s monster. The guttural groan the killer vocalizes right after makes the effort all the more gratifying. _Maybe I’ll actually get a word or two outta you this time._ As he thoroughly enjoys scarfing down every drop of pre-cum bubbling at the tip, the grip on his hair tightens again. _Heh. Won’t be long now._

With lightning speed, the killer carefully retracts his dick from the boy’s mouth and pushes Quentin backwards. _This works too._ Quentin subtly spreads his legs to the side and baits Myers with a sinfully coy expression. Such exhibitionism used to embarrass him in the past but now it is well worth it to watch the other male grow incredibly flustered. _C’mon Mr. Boogeyman, come stab your prey with your polished knife._

Probably unable to resist the tempting meal on display, Quentin helps Michael heave his knees up and out of the way. Keeping an enthusiastic eye trained on the killer, he watches Myers align his slick cock with its target and sink inside his unprepared hole.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Quentin cries out in pain and pleasure, his inner walls stretching to accommodate the other’s massive cock—the intense burn from the wide stretch a welcome sensation.

There is a brief moment allotted to him for adjustment purposes before Michael pulls almost completely out and then slams straight back inside. Choking back a second cry, Quentin hooks his ankles around the small of the killer’s back to keep the other close while he is ravaged. Michael is far from gentle, animalistic thrusts essentially spearing directly through whatever defences his body enacted. But Quentin would not have it any other way.

Desiring more, he starts meeting those aggressive slams in earnest, hips snapping upwards as best they can while his arms coil around the man’s neck. _Holy fuck!_ Quentin shrieks and arcs slightly when his prostate is finally hit. Myers grins mischievously at his responsiveness and deliberately aims for the bundle of nerves hidden deep within his body.

“M-Mike, ah, ha... Michael!”

Feeling his climax on the horizon, the killer suddenly pulls him upright to sit in the other male’s lap all the while continuing to fuck his insides raw. The new position allows for better-angled penetration which has Quentin enjoying the experience even more. Noticing his necklace bouncing sporadically between their heaving chests, Michael clamps down on the medallion with his teeth. _God, wow, that’s..._

The image of Myers breathing heavily with his mask partly askew, beads of perspiration highlighting the exposed strip of his delicious chest, and medallion clenched between his teeth was Quentin’s newest and most addictive mental porn yet.

Quentin then notes Michael going to grip his gravitating hips in a bruising hold and howls when the killer forces them down hard onto the dick lodged in his ass. _Fuck! Oh, fuck... shit!_ Now Myers has complete control over the speed and movement with Quentin’s body essentially reduced to an oversized cock sleeve in the process. He loves it!

Drunk on lust and mewling uncontrollably, he happily lets Michael dominate him, each rough drop onto the man’s member stabbing his prostate and driving him closer and closer to an earth-shattering orgasm.

Michael was the only person Quentin would ever grant such a gift; the only person he would surrender every inch of his body to.

He can feel the killer’s cock swelling inside him and knows Myers is near his end as well.

“P-Pl—Ah! Please,” he whines in desperation, “right th-there, oh… gah, ah! Please M-Michael, please!”

A few more powerful slams to his prostate, and Quentin shrieks in sheer ecstasy, his back violently straightening as his essence fires upwards to generously coat their respective torsos. Mere moments later and Michael is following suit, the killer groaning faintly while his seed spills deep inside the flushed, blissed-out boy. _So much…_

A period of silence descends upon the two where Quentin gradually recovers from his senseless high, his body weightlessly collapsing backwards on the dusty blankets as his erratic breathing returns to normal. He blearily notices the fluid leaking from his undoubtably gaping ass but chooses to ignore the mess. Myers lies beside him after taking a minute to admire him at a distance, the man maneuvering him in such a manner where Michael is able to properly snuggle his spent form. _Th-That was… intense. So fucking intense. God, I don’t, I don’t think I’ll be walking straight for a couple of trials._

Leaning into the killer’s warm embrace, Quentin peers up at Michael to tiredly mumble, “One of these times you’re gonna break me. Y’know that right?”

Myers plasters on a smug smile and then raises a hand to tenderly caresses his cheek. _I just screwed myself over with that comment. Well… I guess there’s worse ways to die than during sex._

Quentin softly leans into the touch before eyeing Michael’s mask and voicing a curious, “You ever gonna let me see the man beneath the mask?”

Michael instantly frowns at him and Quentin grumbles dispiritedly in response but tries again with a sweet and hopeful, “Maybe just once?”

Myers ever so quietly hums and then buries his face into Quentin’s sweaty hair. _Well that didn’t sound like a total n—_

“That was fucking hot!” a feminine voice comments from the now open doorway, and a quick glance in that direction reveals the intruder to be none other than Meg Thomas.

“M-Meg?!” Quentin squeaks in surprise, eyes widening to the size of saucers.

Face immediately flushing in embarrassment, he hastily conceals his sullied nakedness with the now stained duvet. Michael on the other hand is shooting the runner an alarmingly still and murderous look—the threatening glint of it only just visible through those dark eyeholes. Then, with a leisurely grace, Quentin observes as Myers fixes his mask, zips up his overalls, and retrieves his kitchen knife from the nightstand.

_Don’t leave._ He wordlessly whines at the lose of body heat when Michael casually rises from the bed and slowly turns to face Meg. A moment passes where zero noise is heard or created, and Quentin can not help but voice an uncertain, “Uh Meg, I really think you should—”

Myers abruptly raises his blade into the air in a familiar menacing fashion, the sharp and gleaming edge pointing right at the runner. _Did Michael have his third tier ready this whole time? Oh shit._

Baby blue eyes widening in terror, Meg bolts from the doorway while choking out a frightful, “Oh fuck!” Quentin bursts into fits of laughter as he watches Michael rush out of the room to hunt down the speedster—for watching them, or for interrupting, or perhaps both. _I should feel guilty, but it’s too damn funny._

Gathering the duvet in his arms, Quentin wraps his body in it and limps out of the room to lean on the wooden railing. Despite the vexing and mortifying interruption, Quentin is pleasantly sore and all too cheery to let it bother him. He amusedly giggles at the pair running around the chalet while he contemplates his missed opportunities. _Maybe next time we’ll be able to snuggle longer, and get in a couple more rounds… assuming my ass doesn’t split in half._


End file.
